For my birthday last year my mom scoured bookstores for a rare-ish Nero Wolfe novel I had been wanting to read. While unsuccessful as of my 26th, she nevertheless persisted and eventually persuaded a small bookstore proprietor (the store was small, the proprietor average) to order a used copy of it, which she then surprised me with a few weeks later. And yes, since you’re dying to know: it made me cry.

Mom told me a little while back that this bookstore has since folded, which is either sad or instructive. There is probably a lesson here!